Team Fortress 2 Preludes
by General Nonsense
Summary: The origins of the team members.


September 30, 1941

The boy stood at the door to the luxury box with an angry sneer on his face and a tray of wine in

his hand. From his position, he could clearly hear loud, raucous German being bellowed into the

air above the stage. The noise made him cringe, the men producing it clearly having no respect

for the play going on below that had been thoughtfully crafted by its author, tirelessly

rehearsed by the actors, and was presently being ruined by its audience. He looked over at the

bottle of wine on his tray. It was a vintage bottle, and had undoubtedly cost a fortune.

Normally, the extravagantly wealthy patrons who ordered this wine paid very well for it, and

their repeated business kept the theatre open. The "gentlemen" currently occupying the box,

however, had been here three times in the past month, and had not once paid for their wine,

claiming (in horribly mangled french) that their superiors would foot the bill. The boy's father

had tried to get into contact with these superiors several times, but to no avail. The boy was

determined to make sure that they would pay this time. He palmed the vial of clear liquid given

to him by _L'espion_, and, looking up and down the corridor to make sure no one saw what the

was doing, poured a tiny splash of the fluid into each wine glass. He then covered it up with the

wine, swirling the glasses to make sure it was thoroughly mixed. Then, he straightened himself

up, put on his best fake smile (which was pretty damn convincing), and pushed open the box's

door. He felt a surge of contempt run through him as he saw the fat officers sitting in the chairs

with their gray uniforms and brightly colored armbands, loudly making what he could only

assume to be dirty jokes to each other in German. "Your wine, _messieurs_", he announced as he

put the tray between the two men. They didn't seem to notice their waiter, and continued their

inappropriate behavior. The boy then quietly slipped out of the booth, a very sly grin on his

face.

Jacques LaGuerre was born the child of the owner of a popular theatre in Paris, France. From an

early age, he was fascinated by the elaborate dramas, the betrayals, the secrets that played out

on his father's stage every night. Noticing his enthusiasm, his father began giving him bit parts in

plays, parts that he performed spectacularly. As he grew older, his acting improved, and he

began to play more important roles. Later in life, he would credit many of the skills he became

famous (or infamous) for to his time in the theatre. On the stage, he learned to be other people,

to play into roles, to convince the audience. When he wasn't on stage, he helped his father by

working as a waiter, an usher, or whatever else needed doing. He met many of the patrons,

some of them very powerful and influential people in the city and the world outside. When the

occupation occurred, Jacques quickly became outraged at the invaders, putting their vile

symbols and banners over the streets of his home. As a teenager, he joined _la résistance_. There,

he met the mysterious _L'espion_, literally _the spy_, so called only because nobody actually knew

his real name. That was his first lesson to young Jacques: "Good spies do not have identities",

he said. "Names are good only for friends, and spies do not have friends." Over the next few

months,_ L'espion_ taught Jacques everything he knew about espionage, infiltration, and

assassination. He learned how to handle _L'espion's_ trademark butterfly knife, to load and fire a

variety of small, concealable weapons, to disguise himself and to blend into crowds, and how to

change his voice to mimic others. Jacques proved to be a natural at these things, owing in part

to his training at the theatre._ L'espion_ knew that Jacques was in an ideal position to carry out

some field work - many of the patrons at the theatre were high-ranking German officers, letting

off steam after a long day of occupation.

Thus led him to where he found himself now: standing outside the box occupied by two Nazis

who would be dead in less than 24 hours of a mysterious poison. Thus, Jacques completed the

first of many assassinations of his illustrious espionage career.


End file.
